


when my time comes around

by ethelwyn



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 17:10:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5673943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ethelwyn/pseuds/ethelwyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I knew he would come back to me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when my time comes around

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  I kind of wrote this for myself more than anything else. I wanted to write something that more closely resembled prose poetry, which is why the structure is a bit odd (sorry). But I do hope you'll still find some enjoyment in it.
> 
> Also, thank you, [glorious_purpose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_purpose), for dealing with me while I was writing this thing. You're the best, bro.  
> 

  
He was beautiful.

Hidden in the shadows of the city while I hid in his. All wiry muscle and bad attitude, raven hair and mischievous smirks. Face was a perfect mix of gentle slopes and sharp angles. Eyes, hidden behind a black mask and white lenses, were still expressive as ever, and had shone with passion when those deserving were punished, fluttered in satisfaction at each crack of bone.

His unique brand of grandeur lost me sleep, kept me under stars and dim streetlamps rather than warm blankets. Kept my eyes opened to flashes of red and yellow and green, instead of closed to darkness and hallucinations.

He was so much better than a dream.

_What are you looking at, stalker? See something you like?_

He was violent.

It was in his nature, in the way he chose the strength and fury of his fists over the stealth and tact of the Bat. In how he wasn't in the game of vigilance for vengeance or a sense of justice; was in it for the violent thrill, for the license to hurt. Was in it to satisfy himself, for held inside him was an uncontrollable rage, a profound lust for bleeding faces and crushed limbs.

His bloodthirst sent shivers down my spine, kept me both scared and enticed. I wanted to run away, stay far from him, far from the danger. Wanted his fist or heel to collide with my face, to feel his anger, feel the snapping of jaw or nose.

I knew he would make it hurt.

_Past your bedtime, kiddo. Fist fights your kind of lullaby or should I sing you something?_

I watched him.

Followed him as I had the First of the Bat’s followers, but admired him even more. Was obsessed with his silhouette upon the rooftops and in the alleys. Captured his beauty in mediocre latencies, created idols to worship in chemical baths. Saw him the way he was meant to be seen, all in shades and tints of red. The colour of blood and rage, the colour of the Second.

He saw me also, in his shadow, knew I would always follow. But I was small, my presence colourless, lacking any meaning. I was neither the bright yellow of the First nor the striking red of the Second, but the dull gray of Gotham’s sky.

I wanted him to give me colour.

_You should really just stay away._

I was enthralled.

Stalked the streets night after night, hoping to catch just a glimpse of red. Used what little skill I had to stir up the city’s slow nights, to start what only a Bat could finish. Just wanted to see him, get him in front of the lens, to add another idol to my shrine. Kept scrapbooks hidden between mattresses, kept him for my eyes only. Wanted him for myself, wanted him in all the worst ways.

He tried to chase me away, out of his shadow. Mouth claimed he didn’t want me there, said he was dangerous. Eyes always betrayed the truth that he wanted me, too. Didn’t want to break me, but couldn’t chase me away, couldn’t drive me out of the dark.

I wanted him to break me.

_You don’t know what you want, kid._

He was different.

Walked in the shadow of the Bat, but refused to stay there. Was constantly berated for disobeying, for using too much force; had his own better, almost sadistic way of doing his job. Was more than cape and mask and antiquated morality, so very different from the Bat. So much more than flair and witty one-liners and aerial stunt, nothing like the First, but somehow better.

His brutality was his best quality, second only to the passion in his heart. Gave me chills, left me breathless behind the lens as he painted our city crimson. Left me on shaking legs at the end of the night, blood on my mouth and bruises on my hips.

He had stained me with red.

_Why can't you just hate me?_

He was perfect.

Lacked grace and natural ability, but was trained to near perfection, was trained until it was convincing. Began as nothing, as the scum of the streets, and by chance became a disciple of the Bat. Became the protector of this city that is so unkind to her children. Was not the perfect acolyte, but was everything the First couldn't be. Was everything I wished I could be.

His strength was felt in the marks on my hips, arms, neck. In the way he held me up as our bodies moved to their own rhythm. His brilliance was seen in the way he thought so deeply, so intensely, about everything, eyes distant and glazed.

I hoped he was thinking about me.

_I'm really not the kind of person you should admire._

I loved him.

Loved the smirks when the whisper of my camera's shutter could be heard. The whited-out eyes staring into my shadows just a little too long. The way he always performed a little better when he knew I trailed behind him. Adored the way he'd wait for me, still jittering with the rush of cracking skulls. The way he held me, always smelling of leather and other men's blood.

He never spoke of love, but didn't need to. I could feel it in his touch, see it behind the mask. Could hear it as we harmonised with soft shutter-clicks and fists cracking bone. It was in our song as it echoed through the alleys, a haunting, beautiful thing.

I never wanted it to end.

_You're fucking insane._

I was going mad.

Spent my nights following the Bat, hoping to see Red amongst the Black. Watched, waited, listened. Wanted to see him, hear him, feel him again. Needed more than rushed goodbyes upon our favourite rooftop. Developed every photograph, memorised each shade, tone and tint of _him_. Flipped through scrapbooks like holy texts each night. Wished on every last star for his return.

He said goodbye beneath dim starlight, whispered it against my lips. Bit his love roughly into my skin until I felt nothing else. Apologised hurriedly with the sliding of his skin against mine. Breathed promises of his return hotly against my neck.

I knew he would keep them.

_I have to go. I have to find her._

He was gone.

Embraced by death, in blood and fire, then locked away in a wooden box. Was dressed in his best tailored suit to be lowered into the cold, dark depths of the earth. Life commemorated with one grey, stone cross amidst thousands more. Memory preserved in carefully and lovingly taken photographs, framed and placed on a shelf with his crest, like a shrine to worship.

His name was never spoken on the rooftops or in the alleys. I didn't need it, though I had it figured out long before. I just remembered him as I knew him; young, brave, beautiful, red. Not as the city’s troublesome idol, the billionaire’s son.

He deserved more than he was given in life and death.

_...adopted son was killed in an accide--_

He was eternal.

Immortalised in the reddish hue laid over the city's slums. Absent in the shadow of the Bat, but present in the uncharacteristic brutality of the man behind the Cowl. Killed my art, left my camera to collect dust, no idols remaining to admire. Haunted the suit that felt so wrong draped over my body. Succeeded by me, by the Third, the Replacement, the cheap, temporary copy.

His hands were rougher, body stronger, face hidden beneath a red shell. I never questioned him once. Just felt his passion, his rage, his pain; in the knife at my throat, the gun against my temple. Played this new game of ours.

I knew he would come back to me.

_Hello, Replacement._


End file.
